That Which Defines Us
by Clownfood
Summary: Xavier isn't exactly thrilled when Peter Maximoff calls to ask the professor to bail him out of jail, but he agrees to help. The circumstances of Peters arrest were suspicious and Xavier fears the worst - someone is targeting kids with physical mutations. If Erik finds out... (An excuse to force Peter on Charles and have them solve mysteries! Future Charles/Erik, Past DOFP)
1. Chapter 1 - Getting Out

For many years the sound of a phone had been a rare occurrence at Xaviers, so when the first signal rang loudly and unexpectedly through the empty halls it startled the young professor.

"Hank?" Xavier called half-heartedly while staring at the black plastic object on his desk as if he had no idéa what to do with it. He wasn't in the mood for talking to anybody, not yet. He wasn't ready. But who would call here? He eyed the phone, almost angry at the dead object for not allowing him to telepathically pull the information from its' wiring. Tentatively he picked it up on the third signal, putting the receiver to his ear with a mixed feeling of hope and dread.

"Oh my god FINALLY did you have to INVENT the phone before picking it up?"

Xavier didn't immediately recognize the voice as it was distorted by a poor connection but there was no mistaking the speed of which the man on the other end fired words into the telephone.

"Peter?" he said in disbelief.

"Yeah, listen I need you to bail me out" the silver haired youth continued as if Xavier had said nothing "Fast. Or like, fast by your standards anyway"

"I need to what?"

"Bail. Me. Out" Peter empathized every words while sighing, which shouldn't even be humanly possible "With that big house house and fancy accent of yours I figure you can afford it"

"I understood you" Xavier snapped "I just don't see why getting you out of whatever mess you made is any of my concern"

"Oh. Because you owe me like crazy?" It wasn't spoken as a question "After what I did for you and your boyfriend you could at least do me a solid"

"Eric is not..."

"Yeah, I don't care Prof, free love and whatever but seriously though come get me. Come bail me out. It's just a misdemeanor, it won't even cost you that much. We're talking like 900 bucks. Come on, be cool." as an afterthought he added "Please?"

Xavier sighed and rubbed his eyes, he felt a headache coming on but there was some real urgency in Peters voice and whatever part of him had ever treasured the thought of teaching kids were responding to it.

"Peter, call your mother, I'm sure..."

"Oh no, not an option" Peter interrupted almost instantly "Don't you watch any cop shows? You get ONE phone call. This is my one call. There's no other calls"

"Give me her number and I'll make the call" Xavier said, reaching for a pen.

"No way. If you don't come get me I'll just bust out"

"Why haven't you already?" Xavier asked, suddenly curious "With your talents I wouldn't think the police could hold you?"

"They can't" Peter admitted and lowered his voice and spoke, if possible, even faster "But considering RECENT EVENTS and that these people have my home address I'm not real keen on letting them know that"

Xavier understood. Peter had been showing off his powers to a world who would never believe a man could run faster than the eye could see, but after a base ball court walled the white house in on national TV the world believed. Things had changed forever and the people had to change with it, which meant a kid who could barely stay still long enough to blink was willing to sit in a tiny cell to protect his family. Peter was annoying, but not stupid.

"Professor? Come get me" A final plea as someone behind him was shouting that the time was up.

"Alright Peter, I'm on my way" Xavier sighed "If at all possible, try not to do anything reckless and stupid for the coming hours"

"Hours?" Peter whined and the last thing the professor heard before the call cut off was "Just take the jet!"

Xavier hung up and acknowledged Hank, who was standing in the doorway of the study on a polite enough distance not to be eavesdropping.

"What was that all about?" the tall man asked as he slipped into the room "Can't remember the last time I heard the phone ring"

"Get the car, Hank" Xavier ordered softly "We're going to get Peter Maximoff out of jail"

The scientist snorted in disbelief and when he realized Xavier wasn't joking he asked "For real? Why?"

"Because Eric made a mess of… of the WORLD, Hank" Xavier said bitterly while maneuvering his wheelchair around the desk "And I guess I'm growing a bit soft. Come on now, quick as you like"

* * *

It was a miracle that Peter was still in one piece when they finally got to the police station. From the look of him he might vibrare his atoms loose from all of the pent up energy he was fighting to conceal. With nothing to do, nothing to distract him and having to move at regular speed not to alert the police to what he was, Peter had been in hell for five hours, which to him felt more like fifty. At this point the officers though he was some sort of tweaker coming down from a weird high since he was incredibly fidgety and would not stop talking.

When Hank saw him being led down the police stations long hallway he had to turn away not to laugh. Peter looked like someone who thought extremely hard about walking normally, to the point where it didn't look natural at all, more like he was a puppet with strings being pulled rather unconvincingly.

"You stay out of trouble now young man, you hear?" the heavy set officer said as he undid Peters handcuffs incredibly slowly "We've got our eye on you"

"Uh-huh. Yeah" Peter replied "Could you hurry up maybe?"

The officer looked tired as he ushered the young man up to a window where he could retrieve his belongings and sign a couple of release forms.

"Quite a handful this one" the officer addressed Charles, who was watching Peter scribbling his name with a shaky hand "You his brother?"

"No" Charles offered no further explanation and the officer didn't press on.

"Alright then" The officer collected the papers and handed Peter a note that he shoved into the pocket of his college jacket without even looking at it "You'll be summoned to court in a couple of weeks. If you don't show up you might be facing a far more severe..:"

"Yeah yeah I know all this" Peter interrupted.

"I'm sure you do" the man looked almost as bored as Peter did, and he finally waved the silver haired teen away "Off you go then"

It took Peter every last drop of self restraint not to run right out the door. As soon as they were through them and out of sight from the cameras monitoring the entrance Peter was gone. Both Charles and Hank turned their head in the direction of the sharp gust of wind that leaft parasols from an outdoor diner scattered in his wake.

"Well, I guess…" Hank started and then jumped almost a feet when the teen materialized behind him again, the last remains of a hot dog in his hand.

"Man that was a real bummer!" he exclaimed, the food disappearing at an alarming rate "Five HOURS without anything to eat! That can't be legal"

"Did you just steal that?" Hank pointed to the thin air where the hotdog was half a second ago "After we got you out of jail literally less than a minute ago?"

"Don't be such a square" Peter smiled, giving the taller man a friendly pat on the shoulder "It's not like they're going to get me twice in one day"

"Peter, how exactly did they get you the first time?" Xavier asked, keeping his tone sharp and his mind focused on getting the young man to settle down a bit.

"Wasn't running away" the teen shrugged while opening a soda that seemed to just have materialized in his hand "It's not hard to catch something that isn't trying to get away, you know"

"And why didn't you run?" the professor pressed on.

"Because I hadn't done anything, Prof. They just grabbed me, you know?" Peter said while shoving his now empty hands into his pockets, speaking rapidly "When I realized they were coming for me there was no way they weren't going to see me run and there were cameras everywhere and I thought they already got my image on there, so I should maybe just get caught. So yeah, I didn't run. I know you don't believe me but I for real hadn't done anything this time"

"I believe you" Xavier said, surprising both Peter and Hank.

"Did you do the brain thing or what?" the teen asked.

"No, I didn't 'do the brain thing'" Charles smiled up at him, trying to be patient "I never do that uninvited, unless it's absolutely necessary. I believe you without reading your mind"

"That's… wow" Peter seemed uncertain of what to do with his hands, so he extended one to the professor, and Xavier took it "Thanks for bailing me out. And you know, not assuming I'm lying. That was really cool of you"

"Don't mention it" Charles smiled.

"Good seeing you again, Hank. Catch you later!" And with that, he was gone faster than they could blink.

"Come Hank, let's go empty a coffee shop. I need every drop after having to handle that" Charles sighed while rubbing his eyes "I am going to have such a headache"

"I don't get it through" the tall man mused as they started down the sidewalk, heading for the closes cafe "If he didn't do anything, why did they take him in?"

"There are several valid explanations, but I fear the correct one might be rather unpleasant" Charles looked over his shoulder to be able to meet his friends eyes "Not all the people in uniform in there where police, Hank. Something's going on"

* * *

**Authors Notes:** I remember from the comics that Quicksilver hates talking on the phone, and I really wanted to work that into a story with the DOFP-version of him. I'm thinking he doesn't have the patience for all those SIGNALS! Then a story just kinda formed around the premise of Peter getting thrown in jail (because no way they would catch him if he ran. But if he didn't run, why not If he knew he was guilty of something he would have, so he was obviously set up. But why, and by who? And how can I get Eric into this?). Anyhow, hope you liked it! Feel free to tell me if you did or have feedback :)


	2. Chapter 2 - Breaking The Silence

Hank McCoy would probably not have chosen a solitary life, but he wasn't protesting the one forced upon him. In the early days, as their few students vanished and left their halls empty, he'd missed the sounds of life in the mansion. When some of the teachers got drafted the house fell even quieter. Finally that heavy silence drove the rest of the staff away.

Everyone but Hank, who couldn't bear the thought of leaving Charles Xavier to haunt the halls alone. Besides, there was no other place for him to go. He was declared unfit for duty by the government and he hadn't bothered to correct them on that particular point. He didn't want to work for the CIA and no family was waiting for him.

"This is it," Hank smiled, and it wasn't a sad smile, but nor was it happy. "You and me. This house. Our fortress of solitude."

"You're still young, Hank," said a slightly drunk Charles (he was always 'Charles' to Hank when he'd been drinking). "You should go live your life, away from here. Go find your place in the world, fall in love, live! You're brilliant and you're wasting your talents cooped up here."

"The same could be said for you," Hank muttered into his brandy.

"Bah," Charles scoffed, glazed-over eyes staring into space as he talked. "I followed my dream and it ended where it started. I gave my heart away and it was returned to me broken. I might not be old but I have lived my life."

"That's not true," Hank protested. "There is still so much we could do, we could go and look for . . ."

"Stop, Hank, please." The other man shook his head as if the mere thought pained him. "You are welcome to search for her if you like, but I won't go. Eric might be . . . You should go, though. I don't think he'd harm you."

"I'm not leaving, Charles."

There was a slight snarl in his voice which he hadn't intended to use. He was just so tired of these discussions.

"I could make you leave," Charles said softly, emptying his glass immediately pouring another drink.

"You 'could have made' me leave," Hank corrected.

The two men stared at each other in silence across the dusk of Charles' poorly-lit study. Hank's eyes shone unnaturally in the dim light. Even though he was in human form, there was no concealing the beast within. Not fully. The professor considered attempting to reach out with his mind to touch upon the thoughts behind those eyes, but he was too scared of both failure and success to even try. They drank in silence.

Though Hank McCoy had never sought out loneliness, he'd embraced it when it had found him. It gave him time to concentrate on his work and focus on creating something that would pull the professor out of his misery. So far, every attempt had failed. And he became so accustomed to the silence that he forgot how easily breakable it is.

"What's shakin', Big Blue?"

The sight of Peter casually leaning on his desk, where absolutely no one had been leaning a second ago, startled Hank enough to fall backwards of his chair, knocking several vials containing hours of hard work of the table in the process. His animal instinct kicked in just as he was about to become an embarrassing heap on the floor. Instead he did an improvised backflip and landed back on his feet, unintentionally baring his teeth at the intruder who was holding the vials which he of course caught in mid-air with no difficulty at all.

"Whoa there, nice moves but you better be careful with these. They look important. Are they?" Peter fired a barrage of questions at Hank without giving him any chance to reply. "What are they anyway? Is this pee? Ew! Please don't tell me I'm holding someone's pee. Whose is it? What are you doing with it?"

"It's not pee!" Hank growled "It's dichromate, which is toxic so put it down. GENTLY."

"I prefer it to be toxic to it being someone's pee," the teen muttered as he carefully placed the vials back on Hanks workstation.

"How did you get in here?!" Hank realized he was basically shouting.

"Oh, I knocked, and then I waited by no-one came so I kinda just let myself in."

With his thumb, Peter indicated the general direction of the main entrance.

"Of course the front door was locked, which I think is a bit rude because if you're not going to answer it you could at least leave it open, but I found an unlocked window so, no worries! Then I kinda just looked around for a bit, found this weird-looking door to this Star Trek-cellar, and then I found you! Which is great because you're the guy I came to see! Is this a real human heart? Why do you have these? Do you EAT them? Is that part of your Beast-thing?"

"Don't call me that and OF COURSE I don't!"

Hank tried to regain his disposition but is was incredibly hard when the teen was zipping around his lab, seemingly determined to touch EVERYTHING.

"What on earth do you want with me?"

"I need help from a science geek, and I thought who better than my old pal Hank?" Peter gave him a wide smile from across the room, where he was currently flipping through medical books.

"We've met three times."

"I'm counting busting someone out of maximum security prison together as a bonding experience of a value equal or higher to at least five times. Also," he added as an afterthought, "you've met my mom, which also adds an extra point to the side of familiarity."

"I didn't talk to her. She only offered to pay us off not to arrest you."

"Yeah, she's great." Peter shifted on the chair he was now casually spread out over. "So, can you help me with a science thing? It's important. Also you're already kinda involved, you and the professor."

"I'll consider it if you sit still long enough to explain it to me and stop touching all my stuff," Hank snarled.

"Alright, fine. I'll be good."

Peter straightened himself in his seat. Hank finally felt like he regained some control over the situation and therefore remained standing. He crossed his arms and leaned back at his desk, hoping to look at least somewhat like an authority.

"What did you mean by us being 'involved'?" He stated. "What did you do this time?"

"Same thing as last time, nothing!" Peter spread his hands innocently. "It's the same situation, really. When they arrested me they didn't actually tell me what for and I asked like a million times."

"Probably literally a million," Hank muttered. Peter continued if he hadn't heard him.

"When they first brought me in they told me they wanted to do a drug test, and I kinda didn't want to cause more problems at that point, so I agreed. As I'm sure you're familiar with since you usually drug test people by having them pee in cups."

"That's still dichromate."

"But they didn't. They drew some of my blood. Told me it was standard procedure but it's not. I mean sure it happens but it requires special equipment and medically trained personnel, it's costly compared to a swab or the pee-thing. Cops don't do that unless there's like this super-urgent case, and misdemeanors aren't considered urgent usually."

Peter made an effort not to speed through his story but the words still kind of melted together at the end.

"I'm surprised you know this much about police procedure."

"Cop-shows and crime novels," Peter shrugged. "It's like a religion at our house."

"You haven't told me what you need from me," Hank pointed out.

"I need you to test my blood and see if it's . . . weird." Peter's dark eyes were suddenly very serious. "Because I think they were checking to see if I was a mutant."

Hank didn't hesitate before responding. "I think we need to go tell the professor."

"So you'll help?"

"Of course, Peter." Hank answered as he strode out the door to find Charles. "It's what we do here."

* * *

"This is what I was afraid of," Charles Xavier muttered, more to himself than the two men seated in the seldom-used visitors chairs on the opposite side of his desk.

"What's that?"

Even though Peter was sitting down, he seemed to be in constant motion. His feet tapped impossibly fast against the floor and Hank was thankful for the heavy carpet absorbing the sound of it.

"Do you think it's what you mentioned outside of the coffee shop?" Hank asked and the professor nodded.

"What?" Peter looked between the other two as if he was watching an unusually fast-paced game of Ping-Pong.

"It would certainly seem like it . . ."

"Seem like what?"

"I hoped we would have more time . . ."

"For what?"

"but I've been expecting something like this since Washington."

"What have you've been expecting?"

Charles ignored Peter's constant interruptions until he was finished talking. At that point Peter was on his feet, leaning his hands on the armrests of the professor's wheelchair so they were face to face.

"Seriously, Prof, you need to tell me."

"I will. As soon as you sit down," Charles replied calmly in a tone of voice that indicated there was no room for debate.

Peter lingered for a second, as his first response to any type of authority figure usually was to do the exact opposite of what they asked. But then he materialized back in his seat as if he'd never left it.

"I think you're correct in your assumption that they wanted your blood to quickly be able to determine if you were a mutant or not," Charles started.

"But why wou . . ." Peter began but Charles silenced him with a gesture and a stern look.

"Don't interrupt. The important question right now isn't 'why', but 'who'. Who are they and how are they picking their targets? Has your hair always been grey, Peter?"

"Yeah, I used to hate it. Now it's kinda my thing," the youth replied while self-consciously running a hand through the silvery mess. "Why?"

"My theory is that they're targeting people with visible mutations that set them apart from others. Your hair, for example, or people with oddly coloured eyes or fingers that seem too long. The small differences."

"Why not go for the big differences?"

"Because those with the big differences hide," Hank replied solemnly and Charles nodded in agreement.

"Alright, alright, I get what you're saying." Peter was suddenly on his feet, an excited grin spreading across his face. "So how do we catch these guys?"

"Catch them?" Hank repeated.

"Yeah, come on, it's what we're supposed to do, right?" When he didn't immediately get a reaction of approval he added, "Protect the kids from whatever this is? Mutant kids? It's the right thing!"

"It's not that easy, Peter . . ." Hank started but Charles interrupted him.

"Actually, I think it is."

The professor was staring blankly into space, into that distant ideal world of his that he had once thought was lost. "We are supposed to protect the kids. Or at least try. It is the right thing to do."

"Great!" Peter clapped his hands together "When do we start?"

* * *

**Authors Note:** Yay, second chapter! Hope you like it, because let me tell you my web-ads are going to be weeeeird after all the googeling I had to do for drug test practices in the 70s (and for all the drug "possesion+average bail" I googled for last chapter)! Big thanks and credd to my beta reader NotMarge for helping out with grammar and spelling!


	3. Chapter 3 - The Target

They started, as expected, with Cerebro.

To his credit, Hank tried to trick Peter into not coming with them into the sublevels of the mansion, but to no avail. Short of having Charles shut down his motor functions, something the man would never do (unless it was an emergency), there was no stopping the teen from zipping past them at every opened door, which concerned Hank. It had been ages since the professor used the machine, and he usually required peace and quiet. Charles could sense Hank's thoughts and sent a soothing nudge into his mind, making the tall man relax a bit.

As the professor wheeled himself into the narrow suspended bridge that led up to Cerebro's control systems, Peter was already standing in the middle of the platform, gaping at the huge construction.

"Don't touch anything!" Hank, who had followed close behind Charles, called.

"This is really . . ." For once, Peter didn't seem to be able to find the right word.

"Thank you," the professor replied, wheeling past him to settle himself in front of the console. "Hank built it."

"Really?"

Hank actually felt a touch of pride at Peter's marveled expression but it quickly vanished as the youth added, "You do NOT get out much, do you?"

Before Hank could retort the professor spoke up as he eased the machine's attached helmet on to his head.

"Peter, you are welcome to stay but this is a delicate procedure. I need you to remain quiet and very still. If at all possible, try to calm your thoughts."

"Calm my . . ."

"Thoughts, yes, if possible. Your mind keeps racing by my standards, and it's quite distracting."

"Thought you said you didn't . . ."

"I don't," the professor answered before Peter could formulate the question about entering minds without consent.

"But sometimes I overhear things, especially when using Cerebro. Having you in a room is like having a Formula One race track right outside your bedroom window. So please, if possible, try not to think too much."

"Usually not a problem, Prof," Peter grinned.

"I can imagine," Hank muttered.

"Quiet, please, both of you," the professor urged as he turned the knobs on Cerebro's control panel, causing light to turn on.

The air filled with the hum of electricity and telepathy as the room sank away in front of their eyes. Suddenly they were suspended in nothingness, a vastness of dark, empty space before a world map lit up in front of them. Red glowing dots started to appear all over it, in every country, hundreds, thousands of tiny specks of light.

"These are the mutants of the world," Charles said and his voice sounded like it came from everywhere at once, echoed inside Cerebro as well as in their minds.

"Every light here represents a person with an active x-gene."

Hank turned to see Peter trying to take the whole thing in, as if he was attempting to count the number of lights. The youth caught Hank's eye and mouthed 'Wow!' at the taller man, who gave a slight smile in return.

Hank had been through this before. Every time the professor had someone new with him inside Cerebro he would always do the same little demonstration, showing them the mutant population of the world before he'd go on to search for whatever he was searching for. Hank had never asked about it, but he thought it might be to show other mutants, who had often grown up believing they were completely alone, that they were, in fact, not.

It had certainly seemed to have had that effect on Peter. The young man's eyes glistened in the soft red light and he looked almost if he was about to tear up. The professor lingered longer than he had to on those many, tiny red dots, and Hank thought he saw something similar in Charles eyes as well. The Professor looked at the small red embers as if he had never seen them before. Then he shook his head ever so slightly and set to the task at hand.

It took them about an hour to sweep the areas they thought might be of interest, but found nothing. Charles was annoyed by the end of it. He was woefully out of practice and Cerebro wasn't designed to track humans as easily as it tracked mutants. Since they didn't know specifically what they were looking for he had to manually go from mind to mind, listening in and seeing if he could find something that indicated some secret registration of mutants. With a sigh, he removed his helmet and the room materialized itself around them again.

"This is pointless," he said while trying to smooth out his hair. "There are simply too many minds and too little to go on. We have to go about this differently."

"Findthenexttarget."

"What?" Hank and the professor asked in unison.

Peter had been quiet for so long now that all his pent up energy made it hard for him not to speak too fast for the other two men to understand him.

"If we can't find the people who're doing this, we should try to find their next target."

The teen had to concentrate not to speed through the words.

"Victim-profiling, you know. Based on what we know about their targets, we stake out the next possible ones and wait for them to make their move."

"That's actually not a bad idea, Peter," Charles admitted and if Peter noticed the tone of surprise in the professor's voice he chose not to comment on it.

"There's not that many active mutants around here, so finding one who fits what we believe to be their specifications might not be that hard. If we use Peter as the starting point it might give us a good place to begin. If they've already targeted you, they might have targeted other mutants in your area as well. Anyone come to mind?"

"My twin sister."

"There's _TWO_ of you?"

Charles couldn't help but smile at Hank's genuinely horrified expression. Peter didn't pick up on it, or chose to ignore it, and simply continued.

"Yeah. But she's in Chicago and she looks normal."

"You might want to warn her anyway. Just in case," Charles suggested.

"Nah, she'll be fine," Peter waved the concern away. "She's pretty bad ass."

"Anybody else?"

"There's a kid in my school with blue hair. That seems to be a mutant-thing, right? Don't know his name though. Jay-something. "

"It's a place to start, at least."

The professor smiled. He tried desperately not to admit to himself how much he'd missed this.

As the professor took it upon himself to catalog all active mutants in the general area with the help of Cerebro, Peter confessed to not being able to stand around idly another hour.

"Besides, I'm starving," the teen added as he and Hank left the professor to his work.

"You seem to eat a lot. Not that I actually ever see it but I smell different foods on you from time to time. I thought about it a lot when we were in Washington. Is it part of your mutation?"

"You SMELL me? That might be more an invasion of privacy than the professor's mind . . ." He wiggled his fingers in the air." . . . thing"

"Not by choice. I can't help it."

Hank gave Peter an annoyed look as the teen pulled the collar of his jacket up to his face to smell it.

"I didn't mean it like that. Heightened senses is part of my mutation, they're stronger if I'm more . . ."

"Beastly?" Peter offered helpfully.

" . . . but they're always there. Heightened hearing, better sense of smell…"

"But you still wear those things" Peter indicated Hanks big glasses.

"I still need these," the taller man replied while self-consciously pushing them up, setting them at the base of his nose.

"No beast-sight then?"

"Not a 20/20 one, at least," Hank replied as he pressed the elevator button.

Peter zipped away and presumably ran the entire length of the sub level before returning to almost the exact position he'd been standing in two seconds earlier.

"Aw man, don't this place have stairs?" he complained "This is so slow."

"We try to minimize the amount of stairs in the building."

"Oh, right. Makes sense. Still slow though. So slow. Slooooow."

As the elevator doors pinged open Peter was instantly waiting inside, base level floor button already pushed. Hank gave the teen a look before he stepped in. He shouldn't ask. It was so draining to be around Peter, but still. His powerset was something unique, and he was so comfortable with them, which was probably while they all got into this mess in the first place. However, he really shouldn't ask. There was no point. He really, really shouldn't.

"Peter, I have a request," Hank cursed the curiosity of his scientific mind. What was it that was supposed to do with the cat again?

"Shoot," the silver-haired man replied, leaning casually against the wall. "Is it another break in? I can totally do another one of those."

"No, no, nothing like that. This is more of a . . . personal thing" Hank was trying to find the right words to not make it sound like something that would bore Peter to death.

"You're quite fascinating and I'd like to ask if you . . ."

"Oh," Peter interrupted, suddenly straightening up and giving Hank an appreciative look as if he'd never really seen him before. "Let me just stop you there. I don't play for that team. Sorry."

"What?"

"You know. You know!" When he repeated the words a second time he tilted his head and dragged out all of the vowels "Good for you though! Very modern!"

"Wha . . . oh! No!" It took a couple of seconds for Hank to connect the dots but when he did he felt himself turning bright red. "Stop jumping to conclusions!"

"I don't jump to them. I carefully assess the provided information and make an educated evaluation."

Peter was suddenly behind Hank, giving him a friendly pat on the back.

"You're just not keeping up!"

"That's what I wanted to ask about," Hank pushed his glasses up, avoiding eye contact as Peter appeared in front of him again. "Your body seems to have perfectly adapted itself to your mutation. It's very rare, especially in people as young as you."

"You can't be that much older than me, you just act like a senior citizen."

"And you act like a punk," Hank snapped and got a short, heartfelt laugh as a reply.

He relaxed a bit and the elevator doors opened towards the impressive main hall of the Xavier mansion. Hank started explaining while heading towards the kitchen, not really checking if Peter was following him or not.

"I used to do these studies with some of the students and other teachers, back when this was a school," he started. "Logging their experiences of when their powers emerged and running some test to see how their mutations changed them, physically. My theory is that we should be able to find similarities between different types of mutants and that these findings could help kids when their x-gene triggers. I'd like to run similar tests on you. And before you ask no, it won't hurt and yes, you're probably going to be bored out of your mind because it takes around two hours."

When Hank looked around he was surprised to find Peter jumped up on the counter in the kitchen, eyeing him with interest. The doctor had assumed the restless teen would have just run out mid-sentence. Instead he responded with a shrug and a simple 'I'll do it'.

"Really?"

"I like you Hank, so sure, I'll do it. Besides we should look out for the other mutant kids, you know?"

"Thank you."

Peter simply grinned and vanished. Hank decided to make coffee, excited about the prospect of something new to study. It had been a long time since they had known a new type of mutant. Hank was already thinking up names for the category, his brain almost giddily running over the different type of test he'd need to set up. He had made it as far as to the coffee machine at the other end of the kitchen when Peter appeared next to him.

"I meant I like you as a _friend_ just so there's no . . ."

"OH MY GOD, you don't have to clarify that!" Hank growled and Peter put his hands up defensively.

"Ok, ok, duly noted!" he said before running off again, leaving a pile of turned-over chairs in his wake.

"Exhausting person," Hank mumbled to himself, but he couldn't help but smile at his new scientific venture.

* * *

At the age of 15, Jasper had already deduced that his mutation was going to kill him. Of course, at the time, he didn't know what a mutation was. It wasn't until one year later that helmet-wearing terrorist on the news said the word that Jasper understood it probably applied to him, that he was one of them.

That night he looked himself in the mirror and said, 'I'm a mutant'.

No-one called him a liar, so he accepted it as truth. He considered telling his parents, but they liked to avoid speaking to him as much as possible, counting down the days until they hoped he'd go off to college and prayed their marriage would last that long. Jasper himself was not so sure it would happen. Always an egghead, always a target, he'd had his heart set on higher education. He wanted to be one of those underdog success-stories that the papers wrote about. He wanted to come back to his school reunion ten years later and be the most successful guy there.

How impossible those dreams seemed now, how vain and shallow.

Of course he wasn't going to make it through high school, the Poindexter with blue hair who had to call out everyone's lies was destined to die in the mud behind the gym. He'd been foolish to think otherwise, he concluded as he tried to wipe the taste of wet earth from his lips.

"Say that again," Jock Number Two, the easily flustered one called 'Brian' threatened as he pulled Jasper back up by the collar of his shirt. "Say that again, you little shit!"

"I'd rather not."

No one had punched him yet, just pushed him, but he assumed it was coming.

"Jessica would never be unfaithful to me! We love each other!"

And there it was, a statement presented as truth. Jasper couldn't stop it, it was as if there was someone else inside of him, stealing his voice and forcefully speaking that hated word.

"Lying."

"There is no way a worthless piece of shit like you could know anything about us! She loves me!"

"Lying."

"You take that back you freak of I will kill you!"

"Lying."

Well, that was a relief at least. He wasn't going to die today. Just get one hell of a beating. As the jock pulled back his arm to strike, Jasper had a second to worry about how his mom would react to him coming home with broken glasses again. But the punch he expected never came. Instead Brian toppled over as if pushed by thin air and the same thing simultaneously seemed to happen to his friends. Jasper blinked in confusion for a moment, before he took his chance and ran.

* * *

"You can't interfere like that! We're just supposed to observe," Hank scolded Peter, who was absent-mindedly picking at his nails, his back comfortably rested against the trunk of a maple like he's been there with Hank in the tree line the whole time.

"Come on, they would have killed the kid! And then we would have to have found a new kid. And that would mean waiting around for the professor for half a lifetime again and I can't take that, you know? I just pushed them around a bit. No biggie. Not like anyone saw anyway."

"You can't know that for certain."

"Totally can. Scouted the area before I went in. There's no one lurking around this kid but us."

Peter grinned at him and while Hank felt he should argue, he didn't. The situation behind the gym hit a little bit too close to home for the tall man to be wholly angry at Peter for stepping in. He'd been pushed in his fair share of mud in his day.

"Guess we were being a little bit optimistic thinking they would stake out the school," Hank sighed as he got to his feet, brushing away the remnants of the underbrush that clung to his clothes.

"Yeah, I thought so too," Peter mused. "I mean, they wouldn't nab him at school, right? Way too many people. Grabbing him on the way home would be much more efficient. Hey, you get the feeling the professor might just have sent us on a snipe hunt to get us out of his hair?"

"Us?!"

Hank was pretty sure he was being sent away with the teen just to make sure Peter didn't do anything characteristically stupid. Like interfere with the person they were supposed to be following.

"He seemed a bit irritable, you know?" Peter continued, oblivious to Hank's tone of voice as they traced their way back to the main road where Hank had parked his car. "Anyway, what now? Hang out at his house? Hope these assholes show up?"

"Pretty much."

"Ugh. This isn't going to be as much fun as I thought it would. Spying on some dude isn't really my idea of a good time."

"I assume you would prefer we rob him blind?" Hank remarked and Peter laughed good-naturedly, slapping the taller man on the shoulder.

"I knew you had a sense of humor underneath all . . . that."

He gestured to Hanks rather plain, buttoned-up appearance.

"I'm not about to take any abuse for my clothes by someone whose style icon seems to be duct-tape," the doctor replied as he unlocked his car.

"Alright, keep an eye on the kid and if he gets taken in on his way home come get me before you follow them. I'll meet you with the car back at his house."

"Yes, sir!" Peter replied with a mock-salute before he disintegrated in a blur of motion, heading after the young mutant whom they thought was the next probable target.

* * *

Jasper took a long detour on his way home, hoping that he wasn't being followed by the three members of the football team that seemed to always have it out for him. Granted, he might just have told one of them his girlfriend was cheating on him, but it wasn't like he'd meant to say anything. If only Brain wouldn't loudly brag about how Jessica would never be with another guy since he was so terrific, life would be so much easier. Jasper hated teen drama and the amount of lying that was involved in it.

"I would never do that to you, you're my best friend!"

"I wouldn't have slept with her if I knew you liked her!"

"I'm not a racist!"

"Of course I'm not a virgin!"

"I lost my homework!"

Lying, lying, lying, lying, lying.

Too many lies to keep track of. Jasper tried not to listen, but it didn't help. Something inside of him picked up on it like there was a compass in his head that didn't need his conscious mind to point out bullshit, and that part of him always needed to expose the truth. He couldn't stop it any more than he could will himself not to blink. It really was a miracle no one had killed him yet.

When he was pretty sure he was safe from anyone who might be following him he slowed his pace as he navigated the back streets of suburbia. He stole an apple from a low-hanging branch of someone's back yard and ate it as he aimlessly wandered around the paved streets. He knew them like the backs of his hands and he maneuvered himself to the ones where the danger of meeting other pedestrians was fairly slim.

He liked walking, he liked being away from people and he knew the longer he stayed out, the likelier it was that he would miss dinner. Nothing brought his parents more joy than when their only child missed dinner. They would never admit how much they hated having him around, how uncomfortable he made them. When he was home, they were afraid to talk. Every conversation became a bland exchange, like something out of a seriously boring and poorly written TV-show.

"Smells delicious, hon!"

"Thanks, love! Pass me your plates please."

"Is that a new sweater, doll?"

"No. No I've had this for years."

"Lying."

"It's an _expression_, Jasper."

"Sorry, Mom."

Anything more profound or any mention on each other's days was a minefield, as Jasper might call out a lie in any sentence. Since he had exposed his mother's affair nine months ago during a trip to the grocery store, his parents had become jumpy around him. Jasper had no idea why they were so keen on pretending that everything was fine, that their family was as normal and perfect as could be. They insisted on keeping up this charade for Jasper as well. Pretend-worrying over him when he didn't come home and insist on family dinners even though it scared them to have him in the same room. He assumed they were good people, trying to do the right thing, so he tried to be a good son and keep out of their hair as much as possible.

His thoughts were dark, as expected from a teen in his situation, and he didn't notice the silver-haired kid until they almost collided in an intersection connecting two small alleyways.

"Holy shit!"

Jasper tumbled backwards, falling over ungracefully and landing poorly on the base of his spine.

"Ah, sorry, dude! Totally wasn't watching where I was going. You ok?"

"Nothing broken," Jasper replied, knowing that if he said he was fine that other voice would probably step in to correct him. He was never fine.

Jasper looked up at the other kid, who kept restlessly shifting his weight from leg to leg, as if he was unsure whether or not he should stay put or run away. He was dressed in rather plain clothes for a kid his age, but there was no mistaking the silver hair. Jasper had noticed it years back when he started school, and always admired the other boy for not hiding it, like he always had tried to do with his oddly coloured hair.

"Hey, you're the Maximoff kid."

"One of them," the other teen smirked as he reached down, grabbed Jasper's arm and pulled him to his feet. "There's three of us."

"You used to be a senior at my school. Everyone thinks you went to prison."

Jasper realized he probably shouldn't be talking, but against better judgment he always thought that the Maximoff-kid was kinda cool. He seemed so sure of himself all the time. Jasper envied that.

"I assure you that the reports of my incarceration have been greatly exaggerated."

He said it in an over-the-top, old timey way and Jasper was slightly astonished. Mark Twain-quotes didn't seem to fit with the devil-may-care personality that he'd always assigned the other boy.

"I've just been skipping school for a couple of weeks. Hanging back, you know?" he continued and as an after-thought he reached out his hand.

"I don't know if we've ever really met. Peter."

He shook it after a moment's hesitation.

"Jasper."

"Your parents named you 'Jasper'? Dude. Tough luck."

There was genuine pity in his voice. He wasn't being condescending.

"They're petrologists."

"Yeah? My mom's a bartender but I'm not named Gin Martini."

"Lucky you."

"Yeah. I was almost named Pietro but then some friend of mom's said it was better to stick with the American version. However my sisters got Romanian names though. Huh. Never thought of that before. It's not like their names screams red white and blue apple-pie. What are you doing back here anyway?" Peter asked without pause.

It was almost impossible to keep up with him as he sped through the words. It took the other boy an extra second just to catch up and could reply.

"Just . . . walking." Jasper answered, suddenly mindful of his dirty clothes and probably rather messy appearance.

"What are you doing here? You don't live here" he retorted, mostly to divert Peter's attention so he didn't make the connection between the mud on him and the fact that he was hiding in alleyways.

"Oh, you know. Just walking around."

Jasper could feel the word ascending through his throat. He tried to keep it in, but he had no control over it.

"Lying," he hissed, in the voice that didn't sound like his own.

"Whoa, ok, chill," Peter held up his hands in front of him and then his face changed from surprise into something . . . else. "I was out here, bird-watching."

"Lying," Jasper hissed again as he backed two steps away from Peter.

"Ok, fine, whatever. I was looking for someone."

Not a lie. No auto-response. He needed to get away.

"Good luck with that. I got to head home. My parents will worry. Lying. Damnit! I - I have to go."

When Jasper got stressed he forgot to regulate how he spoke, he forgot to make sure there wasn't some small lie in his own sentences and the other voice didn't discriminate. He had to leave, now.

"Yeah, I got someone waiting for me as well," Peter replied as Jasper backed away, looking like a cornered animal "See you around, Jaz!"

* * *

Peter waited for the other kid to round a corner before he took off. He only made a small detour before looping back to where Hank was waiting in his car, irritably drumming his fingers against the wheel.

"That took way too long. Did you do the exact thing you weren't supposed to do under any circumstances?"

Hank greeted as Peter appeared on the passenger seat, feet already comfortably planted on the dashboard.

"Have you MET me? Of course I did. I also got you coffee."

He handed the steaming paper-cup over to the taller man with a boyish grin. Hank accepted it but he wasn't going to be bribed out of scolding the teen.

"Peter, if someone saw . . ."

"No one saw! I checked the area," the speedster sighed while chewing something Hank hadn't seen him put in his mouth.

"And besides, if they did, that might be a good thing. Maybe they'll speed up their mutant-napping if they think we're like . . . associating, or something"

"Or maybe they think it's too much of a risk and move to another target."

"Then we get to sit outside of their house and argue." Peter replied and added an un-enthusiastic "Yay."

"You need to take this seriously."

"No shit."

Peter turned to face Hank, and for the first time since they met he looked angry, his brown eyes darker than usual.

"They got my blood, Blue. What if they go after my sisters? Or my mom? I need to know who they are, so I know we're safe. So don't tell me I'm not being serious about this. I am. Might just not be your and the professor's kind of serious, that's all."

Peter sucked in his lips and crossed his arms over his chest. Hank watched him pout for a second before he hesitantly replied.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I didn't mean it like that."

"Yes, you did."

"Alright, I did. And I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

The dark look on Peter's face was replaced by his characteristic smile. The kid did not hold grudges for very long.

"And thanks for the coffee. That was nice of you."

"I'm a nice guy."

"You stole it, didn't you?"

"Right out of a patrol car. Proper stake-out coffee."

A resigned sigh slipped from Hanks lips as he sipped the hot liquid. He hoped whoever took Peter would show up soon, because this was going to become a long night if they didn't.

* * *

**Authors Notes:** Ok, so with my wast knowledge of mutants I really should have been able to come up with one that fitted the needs of the story: someone with discrete physical mutation, whose power is weak enough not to upset any dynamics in the story and who weren't tied up elsewhere in the marvel movieverse. Turns out it was harder than I thought, and I ended up bringing in an OC. I normally never write OCs but Jasper has been in my head for a while as a mutant with a type of mutation that is an involuntary reflex. If you ever read Saga, I'm pretty sue you can guess where the inspiration for his mutation came from :) However, this is a Peter (and Charles/Hank)- story, so Jasper isn't taking over. He's just here for a purpose.

Also, I had to Google "Common types of trees in Salem, NY for this. Turns out google doesn't list trees by those key words, so I just looked at pictures of trees from that area and though i saw a lot of maples, so I hope those are native to that region. My tree-deduction skills are limited at best!

Thanks for reading, feel free to drop a review and once again, thanks to my Beta Reader NotMarge!


	4. Chapter 4 - The Company We Keep

The next day Jasper saw Peter Maximoff in the hall on his way to first period. Some teacher had the senior student backed up against a locker and was yelling at him about truancy while Peter simply smiled impishly at her. When Jasper passed him the other teen gave him a familiar nod as a greeting and an even wider smile. Jasper returned it with a quick, awkward one of his own before hurrying on. Hallways were not safe places.

Jasper saw Peter again during lunch, and then after school in the parking lot. Every time Jasper caught a glimpse of him the other teen seemed to have been watching him from a distance. If he'd had any social courage whatsoever he might have jokingly confronted Peter and asked if he was following him. He didn't though. He wasn't that self-centered.

* * *

"Nothing' at the school."

Professor Xavier prided himself in not showing any physical reaction to how startled he got when Peter appeared out of thin air in the middle of his up-until-then quiet study.

"I didn't hear you knock."

His piercing blue eyes looked up at the teen and with a sharp nod he indicated the formerly-closed, now ajar, door. Peter looked like he might object, but then promptly shut his mouth, twisted dramatically on the spot and vanished again. A quick series of knockings was heard from the now once-again closed door.

"Come in," the professor called and Peter made a point of opening the door very slowly, entering the room as a stage-actor knowingly walking to his make-believe doom.

"Hello, Peter, what can I do for you?" Charles smiled, putting down the map he was studying and giving the teen his full attention.

"I just came to tell you there were no suspicious incidents at the school today."

"I thought we agreed that the school was an unlikely target for these people."

"Yeah, but I needed to show up anyway or my mom's gonna get in trouble. Thought I might as well keep an eye on the kid. Let me tell you, those secret mutant-blood stealing assholes is, like, the least of his problems. He might get murdered by the football team before they even get to him."

"Ah, to be young again," the professor responded ironically. "Where's Hank?"

"Out by the kids' house, lurking in his car like some shady pervert. If we keep this up, someone gonna notice him."

"The thought has struck me as well," Charles rubbed his temple, a gesture that was now simply a remnant from when he used to get terrible headaches.

"I say we give it one more day, and if we haven't found whoever is doing this by then we have to inform the family of our suspicion and offer what little protection we can. Please deliver that information to Hank when you return to him."

"Yeah. I will. Um… Professor? There's another thing. I need a favour."

Charles felt the unease flooding off of Peter, filling the air and his own mind.

"Are you planning on being arrested again? If so, please know that my funds are not unlimited," Charles intended it as a joke to get the teen at more ease and Peter gave him a crooked smile.

"Giant mansion would beg to differ," He replied, making a grand gesture to include the entire property. "Besides, no-one dresses as sloppily as you if they're not filthy rich. No one who's actually poor would be caught looking like a hobo. Unless they were… you know, actual hobos."

"I would be careful about making fun of a man's clothes when you're about to ask him a favour," the professor smiled and folded his hands on the desk, inviting Peter to sit down. "What can I do for you?"

Peter sat down in the offered chair, but he didn't splay out like he usually did. Instead he rested his elbows on his knees and kept tapping his feet against the thick carpet.

"I...uh… you know my sister, right? My twin?"

"I know you have one. But I have never met her. As I am sure you know."

"Yeah, but ok, so she's been away for a while and I was just wondering if maybe you could… you know, check up on her? Just to make sure she's fine. With everything going on, you know?"

"Can't you simply call her?"

"No. I can't," Peter looked defeated, his dark eyes fixed on the carpet in front of him "If I try to call, it's a wrong number. And it's the same when mom calls. Not even the same wrong number. It's like always different things."

"Are you sure you have the correct…"

"Come on, yeah, I'm sure, Prof. It's kinda part of her power. She doesn't want us to be able to call her, so we can't. She doesn't want us to find her, so we can't. That's just how it is. But maybe if you could use Cerebro you could at least tell if she was in trouble or not. I don't need to know where she is, I respect that she might want some time off and she's perfectly capable of taking care of herself... but mom's worried, you know? And I'm a little bit worried too. She's my sister."

"Of course I'll help, Peter, to the best of my abilities."

If the teen had been closer to him Charles might have reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Cool. That's very cool of you," If Peter was wiping something from underneath his eye he moved too fast for the professor to actually catch it. "Sorry I made fun of your duds."

"It's alright, Peter. I can take it," the professor smiled. "If there's nothing else, go keep Hank company for a while."

"Yeah, wouldn't want to miss out on all the action of hanging out in a car with a guy that smells like a large cat," Peter grinned.

And with that, he was gone.

* * *

On his way back to the main floor after a brief session in Cerebro, confirming that young Wanda was indeed in no danger, Charles noticed that something smelled funny. He wasn't sure what it was. Something reminiscent of the electrical discharge left behind by a thunder-storm. As the elevator dinged open on the main floor, he recognized the thick scent of electrically charged atoms hanging in the air and it caused his heart to race.

He maintained a composed expression as he wheeled himself into the study, unusually aware of the amount of metal running through the structure of his house and lining his furniture, not to mention his chair. As he entered the room, he stopped and folded his hands in his blanket-covered lap, the image of serenity.

"I'd offer you tea but I'd love for you to tell me which one of us you've come to assassinate this time before I start bringing out the good china," Charles greeted the familiar frame of Erik's back, who was bent down over the maps the professor had previously been where the professor had carefully marked X:es over locations.

"You know," Erik's voice was distorted by the metal helmet, giving it a menacing echo.

"I really don't but my guess would be… Hank? It's a 50/50 shot after all."

Erik spun around on his heel, crushing the map in one hand and holding it in front of him like a sword pointed at Charles head.

"You know about our children being taken off the streets, and yet you do nothing?" he growled. "You are supposed to be their protector but what have you done to help them?"

"I can tell you what I didn't do, Erik. I didn't drop a stadium on the White House on national television to prove some sort of superiority complex, putting every mutant on the planet in immediate danger."

"I didn't put them in any danger they were not already in. I simply gave them a possibility to live like free men and women, not like rats covering underneath the heel of human government. It's us or them, Charles. This proves it!" Once again he shook the map at Charles face. "When will you wake up and realize what reality is like outside of this tiny shut-in universe of yours?"

"A reality you created for us by your actions" Charles answered coldly "And perhaps I aided in with my inaction"

"Oh please, not taking action is what you do best. If you had your naive way we'd all sit in an interspecies drum circle of peace and understanding, serenading the sunset!"

"Yes, Erik, because that sounds _LOVELY_ compared to forcing us into yet another war where we pit people against each other simply for being born a certain way. And could you please remove that ridiculous helmet? I can't have a serious shouting match with you while you wear that awful thing. Where did you even get it?"

"Do you think I am incapable of fashioning something out of metal that Shaw was able to make in the first place?" Erik answered from underneath the shadow of the helmet, which was evidently a different one from the one left discarded in the rubble outside of the White House.

"Did you have to make it equally appalling? Could you take it off please? If I wanted to shut you down I would have done so in Washington"

"You must take me for a fool, Charles."

"I do, but not because you refuse to remove that thing. Well, not entirely because of it at least."

Charles pinched the base of his nose, the last sentence spoken with tired mockery. He didn't want to have this argument. Part of him had secretly been hoping that Erik had noticed the disappearances as well. Though he feared what his former-friend might do about it, this gave them a cause to unite their efforts. Charles knew he was being vain, still hoping to turn Erik away from his dark path, but he had missed the other man's company and he wasn't ready to let go. Not yet.

"What do you want Erik?" Charles sighed, wheeling himself further into the room.

"I came to ask for your help, but you obviously already have it figured out. You're just too weak to act or simply don't care!" He threw the map at Charles feet, but some of the explosive anger had faded from his voice.

"We have a plan in motion," Charles replied coolly. "We've targeted a person of interest that we believe these people might go after, and we have detail on his whereabouts around the clock. If they come for him, we'll be there."

"Kids are disappearing off the streets, Charles, and you're up in your mansion playing Columbo!" Erik snarled and he looked like he might have said something else, if he hadn't been suddenly interrupted.

"I _love_ that show!" Peter exclaimed where he appeared at Charles side, startling both the men. "Surprised you know about it though. TV doesn't seem like your style."

When Magneto turned to give the youth a stare that would have sent lesser men running, Peter only continued talking.

"I'm basing that entirely on your previous encounter with law enforcement. And you know… the cape. Can't picture people in capes watch a lot of TV. Because then you'd know capes isn't very... trendy. Unless you're a Las Vegas magician. Or like a _REALLY_ over the top super villain. Which might be what you're going for, what do I know?"

Charles couldn't help it. He laughed. He really shouldn't have because Erik was very keen on his pride, but he couldn't help it. The image of the menacing master of magnetism performing parlor tricks on stage was simply too hilarious.

"I am glad this situation amuses you so. The children being taken are probably not that happy about it," Erik tried to line his voice with poison but he realized it came out as a pout.

"So far, as far as I have been able to determine, no one has actually been abducted for a long period of time. Peter, could you hand me the map, please? Thank you."

He smoothed the paper out over his lap as soon as it materialized in his hand.

"Counting Peter, you remember Peter, I assume"

"Not sure we were ever formally introduced, but hey, Peter, got you out of your little underground penthouse to menace the world once more!"

"I remember"

"Counting him we've so far had four abductions in the greater New York area, following a distinct pattern, indicating that they are indeed one group. Do you have additional information that you would like to share, Erik?"

"I know about two of those," Erik admitted, as those dots were what had angered him about the map in the first place.

"They seem to choose targets rather carefully and operate like local law enforcement, trying to attract as little attention as possible to themselves. All the minds I searched…"

"Hang on!"

"... weren't too upset about the encounter and none of them seems to have suspected foul play."

Charles ignored Peter's interruption, which never seemed to discourage the teen from talking.

"Your 'I don't enter minds uninvited'-rule seems to be broken _a lot,_ Prof!"

"A good lesson to learn early in life, kid, is to never trust a telepath," Erik said grimly.

"Yeah, ok, I'm perfectly fine with trusting the word of the guy at the top of FBI's Most Wanted list. You've obviously got it aaalll worked out!"

Peter grinned at Erik and the older man looked as if he might rip the copper wire out from the walls and strangle the teen with them.

"But hey, that speech you held was pretty cool. Scared the shit out of my mom, but still pretty cool."

"Your mother had nothing to fear from me," Erik's voice was a deep, metallic thunder but he didn't sound as angry. "She has borne mutant children, and if she stands by you, she is an ally."

"Oh, so as long as we can breed with them, humans can coexist with us? How very thoughtful of you!"

"Can we not talk about my mom and breeding, please? Also, it sounds really freaking creepy, especially when you've got that thing on. Maybe you should work on being less creepy? Might be good for PR"

"Why are you here?" Erik asked, exasperated. "Have you become a member of Charles' one-man Peace Corps?"

"Helping out as best I can," Peter quipped. "Speaking of which, a weird car with blacked-out windows stopped twice outside of Jasper's house this evening! Hank followed it but it shook him."

"What?" Charles and Erik exclaimed in unison.

"Aw, you two are really cute," Peter smiled and continued. "Anyway, I thought maybe you could extract the image of the car from Hank's mind and get it into my head, and then I can just run a lap around town and see where it went?"

"Where were you when this was going on?" Charles demanded.

"At home, making my little sister dinner," Peter replied, crossing his arms defensively. "I've got a life, you know, and a mom that works odd hours. Someone's gotta look out for Lorna. So where are we on this mind-image-transfer thing?"

"It can be done, but it won't be pleasant for either of us."

"Wow, I hope I never hear a girl say that to me."

* * *

Extracting the image from Hank's head wasn't very difficult under normal circumstances, but the doctor was incredibly angry at finding Erik standing in the main hall of his home. That complicated things, as an image of him almost drowning Erik in a fountain kept slipping to the front of his mind where he was trying to keep the car with the blacked-out windows.

It took Charles longer than expected to be able to get the full image and then project it into Peter's mind. They had tried this once before, to try and get the faces of the people Peter had been arrested by, but the teen hadn't been paying that much attention at the time and the images where fleeting at best. The main issue was that the professor wasn't able to find all the pieces that together would have formed an image, since looking after something in Peter's brain was like trying to listen to bird-song while trapped underneath a speeding train. After two minutes, he came away with such a migraine that he was bedridden for the rest of the day. Naturally, he was quite nervous about entering Peter's mind again. But dropping an image in there was like throwing a paper plane out into a storm. There wasn't much effort to it.

"Wow, trippy!" Peter said when the car had been deposited into the whirlwind of his mind. "Ok, got it, back in while!"

He was out the door before anyone else could blink.

"So, Erik, how about that cup of tea?" Charles asked and Erik almost smiled. Almost. Hank didn't.

* * *

Charles and Erik were half-way through an argument about how very, very wrong the other person was both ideologically and ethically about _everything_ when Peter returned, wet from a sudden downpour outside.

"Found it" he said triumphantly as he entered the kitchen, too fast for either of the other men to see, but not too fast not to leave pools of rainwater all over the floor. "It's outside an apartment building on 7th and Regal. That house is packed though and I didn't see who was driving the car."

"That's alright, Peter. I can search a house of minds quite easily if I'm in close proximity."

"There's nothing in that neighborhood," Hank complained from his sulking position right outside the kitchen door, unwilling to come in but equally unwilling to leave Charles alone with Erik. "If we park a car there we're going to stand out like a sore thumb, especially if they're looking out for suspicious activity."

"Not necessarily," Peter replied with a grin "There's a bar right across the street from the parking lot. If we sit in there, we're just going to look like a rag-tag bunch of patrons striking out. It should be fine. I know the bartender."

"It's a plan, at least" Charles looked over the table at Erik, who hadn't touched his rapidly cooling tea. "Are you coming with us?"

"Better not," Erik replied. "I'm somewhat famous these days"

"Ah. Yes. Of course," Charles couldn't quite hide his disappointment.

* * *

Peter walked into the shady back-alley dive like he owned the place, snapping his fingers in the air before speaking over the small crowd of regulars.

"Barkeep! Three whiskeys, hold the ice."

"Very funny," a thin woman whose accent sang of eastern Europe replied from behind the bar. "Maybe when you grow up, you can be a famous comedian and support your poor elderly mother."

"Dunno what you're talking about, barkeep. My mom's a fox, gonna be eons before she's even close to old."

Peter had paced the length of the room while talking and when he reached the counter, he leaned over it and gave the woman a quick kiss on the cheek. She laughed and snapped at him with the towel she'd been polishing glasses with.

"Lord help me, did I really raise you like this?" she scolded, but with a smile.

"Nah, you did well. TV and rock music corrupted me," Peter smiled back as he plopped himself down on a chair.

"Speaking of which," he continued motioning the other men forward. "Mom, this is Hank McCoy and Professor Charles Xavier. Guys, this is my mom, Magda Maximoff."

"Yes, I remember you." The warmth faded from the woman's face as he studied her son's two companions. Up close she looked older than her years, her dark hair already turning grey at the temples. Her face had probably been girly once, but age and life had hardened soft curves into sharp lines. It wasn't unbecoming though.

"Should I be worried that my son is hanging out with a professor?" she asked, as she shook Charles outstretched hand. Her skin was hard and dry from years of manual labour.

"Most parents would be delighted," the professor replied with a charming smile.

"Most parents are stupid, Professor Xavier."

She turned her attention to Hank, who looked even more nervous than usual under her scrutinizing dark-brown glare.

"You! You look like a proper young man. You, I like," Magda said with an approving nod.

"You would. He's a doctor," Peter remarked from his sprawled out space at the bar.

"A doctor at your age! How proud you must have made your parents!" Magda exclaimed, then turned to her son to once again swat at him with her towel. "Why can't you be more like this young man?"

"Mom, you don't even know him!"

"No, but I know you well enough."

"Point taken. Mind if we hang out for a bit?"

"Why?" Magda's eyes narrowed and she shifted her attention to Charles, who wasn't paying attention to her but seemed to be staring into space with two fingers on his temple.

"This is a bar. It's what people do here, right? Well, except Ernest over there, who I guess lives here? I've never seen him leave."

With his thumb Peter indicated one of the regulars, a hopelessly depressing middle age man whose face was saggy from years of drinking.

"Leave Ernest alone," his mother hissed. "He had a rough time in the war. Show some respect."

"Alright alright. Sorry, Ernest!"

"What?" The man looked confused, as he had not been paying any attention to the conversation before Peter called his name. The teen didn't elaborate and the veteran swiftly sank back into his own beer-drenched little world of misery.

"You avoided my question. If my _underage_ son want to hangs out with this friends, why would he pick the bar where his mother works?"

"You caught me," Peter leaned back on his chair, both hands in the air in a casual 'I surrender'-gesture. "It's a set-up. I want Hank to be my new dad."

Hank felt the furs on his arms stand on end, a sure sign that he was seconds away from turning blue and beastly out of pure emotional shock. Ha was clamoring for words when the professor suddenly spoke into his and, he assumed, Peter's mind.

"Ninth floor, third window on the right. It's them."

"How'dyouknow?" Peter asked out loud and too fast, but the professor caught it.

"That room is completely dark to me. It's like as if someone's blacked it out on a map," Charles continued the psychic conversation. "I can't read anything from it. This has only happened with other telepaths before. These people might be mutants, or more dangerous than I previously assessed. Peter, don't…"

As he tried to voice his warning, Peter left in a sharp gust of wind and Charles finished out loud.

"...run right in."

Hank ran out after Peter, but when Charles attempted to follow, his chair wouldn't move. He turned his head to see Ms. Maximoff standing over him, one hand grasping the push handle so hard her knuckles turned white. She leaned down close enough so that Charles could smell the old perfume and fresh beer on her clothes.

"Listen to me," she said, her voice kept low and her accent more prominent now that it was tinged with anger. "I don't care _what_ you are or _what_ you can do. If my boy gets hurt in any way, or put away because of you, I'll make your life hell."

"I have no ill intentions and I wouldn't put Peter in any danger," Charles reassured her, while also pushing the suggestion into her mind, ever so slightly.

His concentration broke when they heard gunfire across the street.

* * *

Authors Notes: Phew, lot's of talking and ending on a cliff-hanger! Sorry about that! This story was originally only meant to have five chapters and I'm kinda keeping a good pace for everything to resolve itself in the next chapter or maybe the one after that. Introducing Erik will make things a little more difficult but hey, it's Erik, there's no way this would be happening and he wasn't aware!

To answer someones question/plea not to have Erik speak fake-German, don't worry! I'm Swedish, so naturally I've studied German for seven years (as we do) and lived in Switzerland, I'm perfectly aware that my overall German is crap and I would never dream about writing anything in it. Seriously, the grammar is a nightmare to me :)

Thanks to everyone who wrote reviews, it's really encouraging to know you enjoy the story! And as always, thanks to my beta reader NotMarge!


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